


Sunrise Storms

by undernightlight



Series: Gays in Space [11]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Boarding School, Bullying, Childhood, Gay Male Character, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It's cute trust me, M/M, Malcolm just deserves love omg, Stuart is an asshole and I think we all know that, bless Malcolm Reed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: Malcolm's life has never felt stable to him, with strong ups and stronger downs.[Chronicles of Malcolm Reed][More tags to be added]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter, deciding to break it up instead of it all being super long. Still haven't finished this story, so updates might be a bit sporadic but I'll try from one each week, maybe two. I'm not really sure how long this story is going to be, and don't really have it all planned out; I'm trying to let it grow organically.
> 
> I put the underage tag because they are still only 16/17, which is legal in England, but yeah. I also don't think I specified their ages like, so just to be safe, but there is no smut or anything like that, no worries, just references to sex and that.

He hated the doctors. In any sense. Malcolm just didn’t like people poking and prodding at his body, trying to figure out what was wrong with. He’d be fine in time, this just wasn’t necessary.

Malcolm walked reluctantly behind his dad, his shoes scuffing against the pathment slabs, fingers fiddling with a paperclip in his left pocket to keep his mind distracted. He didn’t need the doctors, and his dad knew he didn’t need it either, yet his mum was so insistent and he couldn’t say no to her. Sometimes, going with his mum wasn’t as bad, she was more...sensitive about things like health and self care, while his dad had a more serious, ‘take no shit’ attitude’ going the doctors with his dad was not a fun experience.

He was already on medication for his numerous allergies, taking enzyme supplement tablets just to allow him to eat his favourite fruit, and his dad already found this far too excessive. He’d be happier of Malcolm just suffered and went into anaphylactic shock every time he ate anything with nuts, corn, mangos, shellfish, bananas, and everything else he was allergic to….it was a lengthy list. His dad didn’t think he needed the medication, that it was making him weaker. Malcolm ignored him to the best of his ability. It didn’t always work.

“Hurry up Malcolm,” his father called back, and he picked up his pace as they entered the practice. The walls were green and the carpet was blue, the same colours they’d always been, with the same chairs with the wooden frames and worn, cracked leather cushions. There was a young child playing with a toy in the corner, a table with colourful beads threaded on curly wires, and Malcolm could only imagine how sticky it was, covered in germs, but the child looked happy. His mother, a woman sat close by reading a parenting magazine, didn’t seem to mind though.

His father checked in at the reception desk, talking to the man behind the glass divider.

“Yeah, here it is, half four appointment for a Reed, Malcolm Joseph. If you take a seat, the doctor will call you when he’s ready.”

It was four twenty seven His dad mumbled a thanks as he walked away, and Malcolm gave a small, helpless smile to the man behind the counter, before following suit and sitting next to his father. His foot bounced nervously as they waited, neither talking to each other. Then it was four thirty one and his father then spoke, complaining about how the doctor was late and how unprofessional it was. Malcolm still didn't speak.

At four thirty four, they were called, and again, Malcolm followed his father, hands back in his check school pants. He sat in the chair following the doctor's instructions, and his dad hovered above him, something Malcolm was used to but still didn't like.

“Now, what's the problem Malcolm?” The doctor, Dr Wilson, asked, looks at the young boy, and Malcolm was about to respond before his dad interrupted.

“Nothing’s wrong, just his mother being overprotective.”

“Why are you here?”

“She said she’d noticed some behaviour changes, think he might be ill.”

“Can you please wait outside? I think it will be best if I speak to your son alone.”

“I can speak for him.”

“I'm sure you can, but I'd like him to answer himself, and it will be best if you wait outside.” 

Stuart Reed seemed extremely reluctant, but he nodded once, before turning and leaving, saying nothing more.

“Now Malcolm, you're fourteen, you can answer these questions, okay?” And Malcolm nodded in response, though he was nervous; speaking to people he didn't know wasn't easy. “So what's wrong?”

“Nothing, everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? This is a confidential appointment; anything you tell me will stay between us, your mum and dad don’t need to know.”

Malcolm looked up and was hesitant to speak, but he did. “There’s nothing you can do to help.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I’m not sick.”

“But something is wrong.”

“It’s just in my head.”

Dr Wilson didn’t fully know what to think of what the boy was trying to say. “Explain it to me, I might be able to help.”

“It’s like…” Malcolm had never had to explain what was in his head before, no one ever asked. He wasn’t sure he had the words to describe it all. He wasn’t convince there was anything that could be done, but what did he have to lose? “Well, I get sort of lost – in my own head sometimes – and I don’t know what to do. I don’t feel like I know who I am, like, when I’m not myself but I don’t know what myself means any more.”

“Keep going.”

“And, well, like, I just feel sort of...there, like I’m not really doing anything anymore.”

“Have you told your friends and family about this?”

“I don’t really have friends. I did, at one point, but they said I was too different.”

“How many people that you know would you call your friend?”

Malcolm thought hard about the question, but he found his answer easily. “Urm, no one really.”

“No one?”

“Maybe my sister, but that’s it. It’s too hard to make friends, I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“Because they all leave anyway, so what’s the point.” Malcolm thought the doctor was asking a lot of questions, but he didn’t say that. He could also hear the hostility in his own voice; he didn’t mean to sound aggressive but he couldn’t help it. People leave, that’s all there is to it.

“Malcolm, do you ever experience intense emotional changes? Like one minute you’re very happy and then next you’re sad or angry?”

“Sometimes, but I’m not happy as much anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“I..I don’t know.”

“Instead, do you feel empty, or just non-feeling?”

He nodded, looking up from his hands in his lap. It sounded like Dr Wilson understood what he was saying, or trying to say, and that maybe…”Can you help?”

“It’s possible. I don’t specialise in mental health, but I will refer you to somebody more suited to your needs.”

“I don’t want another doctor.” He had enough difficulty coming here, a place he’d been visiting for years, and he couldn’t handling having to do the entire procedure in a foreign building.

“You’ll still see me, but you’ll be able to talk to someone who understands better than I do, and who can really help you more than I ever could. But you don’t have to decide anything now, I can’t force you into anything. Talk it through with your family, see what they think as well. I’ll give you a number to call when you’re ready to talk to somebody about it.” He turned and grabbed a pen from his desk and copied a number from a laminated sheet stuck to the wall under his shelved onto a post-it. He handed it over to Malcolm. “When you’ve decided and want to go through with what I’ve suggested you can ring them, and book an appointment with them, and they’ll help you through it all.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. There isn’t much else to do here though, would you prefer me to talk to your father while he’s here?” Malcolm shook his head; he’d never responded so quickly before. “Okay, that’s fine. I hope everything goes well for you.”

Malcolm nodded, before standing and leaving, shoving the number into his pocket. His dad was sat waiting.

“I was right, wasn’t I? There’s nothing wrong with you is there?”

“No, I’m fine,” he responded.

“Good, now we can tell your mum that so she’ll learn that she needs to stop being so goddamned paranoid.” Malcolm nodded again, and followed his father out of the building. There was no way to talk to his father about this, he didn’t need to know. I’ll be fine, Malcolm thought.

# # # # # # 

He was just needed to get out of his dorm room, it beginning to feel small and claustrophobic with his books and school work and personal items; he needed fresh air, so he pulled on his blazer and headed outside to walk around the school grounds. His fingers fiddled with a paperclip in his left pocket to keep his mind occupied, to give him something to do. The school grounds were well maintained, grass always cut and gravel always kept in the pathways, and surprisingly he saw no other students around but heard shouting and screaming and laughter. He continued to walk and as the protruding block of the L-shaped building passed him, he saw the source of the noise.

Around the fountain, there were four boys, one curled in on his side, with his hands enclosing his head, calling out for them to stop and making groans. The other three loomed over him, shouting abuse at the boy as they kicking him. As Malcolm kept taking steps closer, he could see the shoe prints on the boy’s white shirt and trousers, his tie laying discarded a few feet away. His instincts acted without thought, though he doubted his actions would change, as he grabbed a rake propped up against the building and ran forward, swinging the the wooden handle and striking one attacked on the back, sending him forward, his face hitting the grass.

“Hey,” called one boy, angry and heated, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Malcolm didn’t have time to respond to him, as the other remaining on his feet lunged at him, grabbing his shoulders and slamming him sideways into the ground, his head near missing the gravel. It hurt. 

“Who said you could get involved? This is a private matter.” Malcolm felt a kick to his stomach and his whole body curled in, trying to protect himself as much as possible. “You shouldn’t mess with business that isn’t yours.” Another kick, but now to his back, the one he hit must be up again. Malcolm managed to open his squinting eyes ever slightly and saw the young boy who was once of the floor was now pulling himself to his feet, scrambling, but was pushing back down. “I didn’t say you could fucking move.”

Malcolm tried to watch the boy on ground as best he could, but he was being kicked too hard and too often for shapes to remain stable. He was struggling to breathe as the pain was spreading through every part of his body, every muscle fibre, every cell. And then suddenly the kicking stopped and his body was pulled up from the ground by his arms, and he tried to pull away but he had no strength as he was dragged to the fountain.

His head was pushed under, one hand on the back of his head and one on his neck, keeping him submerged and struggling, trying his hardest to thrash his head in the water, hoping to be able to gasp for air but he couldn’t escape the grasp; Malcolm could feel the fingernails digging into his flesh. He coughed into the water, unable to escape and he could feel the liquid flow into his lungs. He heard more muffled sounds, akin to a voice, sounding somewhere he couldn’t tell. And then the hands were gone and he pushing himself out of the water, his body falling to the side. He was choking and as he coughed he brought up water, spilling from his mouth onto the grass beneath him. When he managed to look around, the boy was still curled on the grass, but the others were gone, a staff member standing off in the direction he could see them running. Malcolm struggled to push himself up, his arms having no strength, so he just laid their in pain.

“Thank you,” croaked the boy, and Malcolm managed to look to him, his head bleeded.

“Any fucking time,” he managed, trying again and then succeeding to push himself onto his knees. Water dripped from his hair onto the grass and his trousers, and there were small streams running down his face from the strands that were stuck to his forehead. “What’s your name?”

“Victor, Victor Renslow.”

“Nice to meet you Victor Renslow, I’m Malcolm Reed.” He held out a hand, and the boy took it. Malcolm helped pull him up, and they sat side by side, leaning against the wall of the fountain. He coughed up more water still unable to catch his breath. “I think...I think we might need to see someone, and...as much as I hate to say this...it might be a doctor.”

“I think you may be right.”

“Who...who were they anyway?”

“Leslie Morris, I don’t know the other two by name, just that they follow him around a lot.”

“We should, urm...find out.”

“If you say so.”

# # # # # #

Wow, had it been seven months already? Time flies when you’re happy. Malcolm had never noticed that before.

“You sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone?” He asked Victor.

“Yes, I’ll be fine, you need to stop worrying so much.”

“How can I? You get yourself into far too much trouble.”

“That’s your fault not mine. But I’ll be fine, it’s less than a week, I’ll cope. Call me though, I expect to hear you at some point while your gone.”

“And if I don’t?” Malcolm stepped closer, snaking his arms around Victor’s waist, pushing his hips into Victor’s hips, a smirk gracing his lips.

Victor leaned into him, his arms over Malcolm’s shoulders and fingers laced, and he leant into his ear and whispered. “Then you’re on a sex ban for as long as I feel like.” Malcolm chuckled, the vibrations resonating through both their bodies.

“Okay, okay, I’ll call,” and Malcolm kissed him, the smile still on his face, “I promise I’ll call.”

“Good. And...when you get back, we’ll have a couple days before classes start, before all the students get back.” Victor was ghosting his fingertips across Malcolm’s neck., “And we can be as loud as we fucking want.”

“I really like the sound of that.”

“And I really like the sound of you, but you need to get going or you’ll miss your train.” Victor practically shoved him out the door, though a kind smile remained. They kissed and parted, Malcolm heading down the hallway with his bag in hand to walk to the train station.

The train was on time, surprising enough as is, and he boarded, placing his bag on the overhead and his backpack under by his feet. He booked a seat at a table, hopefully to get work done on the journey home. He sat against the window, watching people along the platform walking and conversing and having a good time. He hadn’t seen his family in a while, all four of them together in the same house for five days.

He’d decided to tell them all, about his life, and Victor, about being a queer little human. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he couldn’t imagine it would all be okay, all be happy and they’d embrace and everything would be great. But he hoped. He hoped it would it would nice, and they’d say they were happy he trusted them enough to tell them, that they want to meet Victor as soon as possible. He hoped.

By the time the train started out the station, the three other seats around the table were still empty, unlike usual, but Malcolm was grateful. He quickly pulled out a textbook and notepad and a pen, and plugged in his headphone to his phone. He hit play and began working.

The hours he travelled were uneventful and quiet, and he managed to read ahead, taking the pressure off when he got back after break. His music kept him calm as he continued to panic about talking to his parents about his life. He was sure Madeline would be fine, that she’d be supportive, she was much more...progressive compared to the rest of the family; it was his dad he was most worried about. His stomach did a little flip here and there, and continued until it was turning somersaults as they rolled into the station.

His parents picked him up, Madeline arriving the day after. His mum was so excited to see him, pulling him into a hug immediately, and his dad smiled as he loaded hid bag into the boot of the car. They drove for a little while back home, and Malcolm talked about school and how everything was going. He’d talk about Victor later.

The day went faster than Malcolm expected; they got home and showed him to his old bedroom and he couldn’t help but smile. He change to be more presentable and they went out to dinner, and Malcolm was updated on all the family affairs he’d missed being away. The next day came soon and he was excited to see his sister, and she embraced him with all the ferocity he’d expected and he gave as good as he got. After dinner, as they were all sat around, Malcolm spoke up.

“Urm, I have some stuff to tell you.”

“Oh what?” Madeline chimed, all eyes now on him.

“I..urm, I’m in a relationship.” He dragged out each syllable.

“What? Wow, when can we meet her?” Madeline now giving full and eager and attention.

Malcolm tried to speak up before his mum interrupted. “How long have you been with her? Why have you only told us now?”

“Well,” he began, “I wanted to tell you in person,” and before he could be interrupted, he aggressively added, “and there’s a reason for that.” They looked slightly confused, and he understood that, but it didn’t help the feeling in his stomach pass. “Urm, I wanted to tell you because I...I have a boyfriend.” His eyes flicked between them, waiting for them to say something, but they all just sat there. He couldn’t tell what they were thinking, their faces unreadable, and suddenly he was aware of the tension through his entire body.

“A...boyfriend?” His mum finally said, eyes somewhere on the coffee table.

“Yes, yes. His name is-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” His father’s voice filled the room, deep and bellowing and sudden. Malcolm choked on his words, feeling a sharp pain in his lungs. “I don’t want to hear anything about it. You do not speak like that in this house, my house, you do not dare say that.”

Malcolm’s jaw trembled; he wanted to speak, to say something in retaliation or explanation, but he couldn’t make a sound. His mum and sister just sat there, almost as startled as him but not quite. “Get to your room. I don’t want to see you.” He was unable to move. “Now!” He stood swiftly and bolted from the room, his legs feeling weak beneath him. He took the stair in bounds of two, reaching his room at the top of the house, and falling back against the door. He was struggling to breathe. He needed to calm down but he didn’t know how.

He stumbled over to his bed and laid down on his back, his hands interlocking comfortably on his stomach. And he laid there, staring at the ceiling for an unknown period of time. He wasn’t expecting it to go well, but he’d hoped. He would of at least liked to explain, or talk more about it, to tell them how much Victor meant to him. His dad was just not ready.

He didn’t move, but he heard a knock on the door. “What?” He called, and the door opened. He didn’t lift his head but he looked, and saw Madeline entering with a nervous smile.

“Hi,” she said, closing the door. Malcolm didn’t respond, just returning his gaze to the ceiling above him. She stood there, waiting for him to ask why he was there, but he didn’t. She waited a little while but still no response. Madeline then walked round to the other side of the bed and laid down next to him, copying his position on the bed. They remained in silence for a little while before she spoke again. “I wanted you to know that I’m not like dad. I’m happy for you.”

Malcolm still didn’t respond. “Malcolm, I am. I want to know about, what’s his name?”

“Victor.” His voice was quiet and it wavered slightly.

“What does he look like?”

“He’s...a little taller than me, only slightly, and he has dark ginger hair, almost auburn, and freckles across his nose and cheekbones and temples. His eyes are a dull green with little gold specks, and he had a bright smile.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s great. He makes sure I don’t work too hard and stress myself out, and helps me with my panic attacks. And he’s always there when I need to talk to him, and he never complains when I go off on one and ramble. He likes to wear jumpers where the sleeves are too long and his hands are engulfed. He’s a terrible cook, worse than me if that’s somehow possible, but he tries which is cute. He’s just...great.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

Malcolm looked at her then, unsure what to say at first. “Maybe,” and he turned back to the ceiling.

“You haven’t said it to him.”

“No, haven’t really thought about it I guess.” Malcolm’s voice has softened as he spoke about Victor.

“Sounds like you love him.”

“Never really thought about it.”

“When can I meet him?”

“Probably not soon, judging by their reactions.”

Madeline knew he was talking about their parents. Their dad was the worse, but hopefully their mum could convince him to calm down, though she wasn’t sure how she was taking it judging by the silence that followed her brothers departure.

“Well, I mean, you can come visit me. I know it’s a bit further than here, but I’ve got a spare room.”

“You mean that?” He looked at her again.

“Oh course. I look forward to meeting him, whenever that may be.”

“Yeah,” and he smiled, “Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> There is a bit more...I don't know, character? I'm not sure what I'm trying to get at but I know what I mean. There is some stuff in this chapter I really like, so yeah.

He was finally home after the family trip, well, he was back at school which was home now. He was drained, felt terrible in many way, and fell onto his bed as dramatically as he was able to with what energy he could muster. He still had a few days before school started again, which hopefully would give him enough time to adjust again.

Victor had told him to tall once he’d gotten home, but Malcolm didn’t want to. He just wanted to sleep.

He begrudgingly sat up and began unpacking his bag, putting his clothes back in their draws and the food his sister had sent back with him on the desk. He wasn’t hungry. He showered and did some work, hiding out in his room all day, going to bed earlier and sleeping in as late as physically possible for him. He woke up the next morning to knocking on his door. When he opened it, Victor stood there a small smile, but clearly not exactly happy.

“Hey, you alright? Told you to call me yesterday.”

“Yeah, fine.” Malcolm moved aside as Victor walked in. He was dressed nicely in civvies; black jeans and a maroon button up, black and white sneakers.

He closed the door behind him. “Sure? You seem a little...I don’t know.”

“I’m fine.” He wandered back into the room and pulled the duvet into place to allow them to both sit down, but Victor didn’t. “What?”

“I’ve learnt to know you, by the way, so I know when something’s off.”

“You’re wrong. I’m fine.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“What’s it your business anyway?”

“I’m your partner that’s my business. I care about you.”

“Well, maybe you need to stop making it your business.”

Victor just looked at him, furrowed eyebrows, confused and surprised. “What?” His voice was so soft and quiet; he sounded the same way a cosy blanket felt. Malcolm stared at the floor, fiddling with his hands.

“Maybe you need to stop making it your business.” He found he spoke quieter, to make Victor’s volume. He tried to make himself sound as confident as possible.

“Are you saying you want me to leave the room or want me to leave you?”

“Why not both.”

“Malcolm-”

“No, no, you need to leave. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“You have to talk to me, you need to talk to me.” He was getting louder, his words stronger.

“We don’t need to talk.”

“We do! Are you saying you don’t care anymore? Just days ago, you were fretting over me being alone while you were gone, and you seemed so fucking eager to get back so we could sleep together. What happened?”

“Why did something have to happen?” Malcolm stood in a smooth and aggressive movement, taking steps to Victor. “Why could I not just of finally realised that this isn’t working out? Why does it have to be something happened? I just got smart Victor, that was it. “

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Victor’s mouth opened but no sound came out, his jaw trembling but body tense. Then his eyes began to water and he shook his head, wanting to deny what he was hearing but he couldn’t, Malcolm was making if clear; he didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. His head stopped shaking, and then Victor left, throwing open the door and slamming it behind him. Malcolm just watched. Then he sat back down on his bed.

That was hard, but it had to be done, it had to be.

The following week was harder though. Lessons started again and all the students were back but he was alone. He hadn’t seen Victor, which he expected, but he was lonely without him. He had other people he could call friends, but that wasn’t what they were; they were just names with faces that he spoke to, and to them he was a name with a face that spoke back, but they were not friends.

He had Victor, but not for the past week, and Malcolm didn’t know what to do with himself. Often, they would spend time together, in each other’s room or on the grounds, allowing themselves to relax and be who they actually are, not what they chose to show to strangers. There were times where they would sit together for hours and not speak, being independent in a dependent way, and they were able to have that for themselves.

Malcolm sat alone in his room, trying to concentrate on his studies but he couldn’t. The textbook was open on the same page it had been for the past half hour, the words becoming nonsensical and blurred the longer he stared. He hadn’t wrote a word in a while, the pen held loosely between his fingertips and his vision obscured by the force of his hand supporting the weight of his head and heavy heart. What was the point of trying to work when he knew he wasn’t going to get anything done?

He decided it didn’t matter anymore, what his father said, he didn’t care because his father would make him miserable no matter what now, so he should be happy with Victor. Not miserable without him.

Malcolm quickly shoved his shoes on and left his room, still adjusting the back as hopped down the corridor to leave his dorm building. He crossed the campus quickly, trying to hide his urgency as he reached Victor’s building. He slowed his pace to walk in, passing a few people on the way, and reached the door. Malcolm hesitated as he raised his fist to the door, small movements mimicking a knock inches away from the wood; he wanted to knock, he needed to, but he was nervous. The longer he stood there the more anxious he became, so he mustered what he could and knocked. Seconds later it was opened and Victor stood there, the smile dropping from his face when he realised who it was. Malcolm hated that he was now someone that wiped a smile from Victor’s face, not one that caused it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” His tone was as dull as a paperclip and as blunt as an spoon.

“Can I, urm, come in?”

Victor looked him up and down, as if it made a difference how he dressed. His sighed, looking to the carpet and shaking his head, disappointed in himself as he agreed, standing aside to let him. Malcolm stepped in. Nearly everything was as it was a week ago, not that he expected drastic changes, but it’d felt so long since he’d last been in the room. Their pictures had been taken down though, Malcolm realised that instantly, the ones that had been stuck on the wall were missing, faint blu tack marks visible. The framed picture on the desk had been turned down and the stand collapsed.

Malcolm also realised he hadn’t thought about what he wanted to say, that he didn’t fully know how to explain what he did and why he did it. He turned to Victor who impatiently waited for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed at first. He held eye contact for as long as he could. “I’m truly sorry, I...I’m an idiot, I made a stupid mistake, and I’m so sorry.” He crossed the distance between them, Victor not backing up which he expected, and took his hands in his, stoking his thumb across Victor’s knuckles. “I made a stupid mistake and I’m sorry I did that, and I did that to you because it really wasn’t fair.” His gaze had dropped to their hands; they fit together so well. “I’m sorry,” and impulsively he pulled his hands away and to Victor’s cheeks, pulling him in and their lips smashed together violently and suddenly. Malcolm didn’t expect the little resistance he faced as their lips moved smoothly against each others and Victor’s hands rested naturally on his waist like they used to. The force of the kiss lessened, changing from a battle of dominance to kind and gentle and willing to allow the other to lead. Malcolm’s hands dropped down to Victor’s neck and shoulders.

Victor was the one to pull away, but kept their bodies close. “I deserve something more than just sorry Malcolm.”

“You do, yeah, it’s just not easy to explain.”

“Then try.” His voice was firm, a contrast to Victor’s usual, comforting ‘then try’ he used when Malcolm couldn’t put his thoughts and feelings into coherent sentences.

He nodded his head, and Victor pulled him over to sit on the bed. They sat side by side, angled towards each other. Malcolm tried hard to steady his breathing. “I, urm, went to my family’s, you know that, and while I was there, I told them I was in a relationship. Before I could say much else, they were jumping in with the questions ‘when can we meet her?’, ‘how long have you been with her?’, and I had to stop them and tell them that, you know, you were a guy. My dad was furious, shouting and sent me upstairs, and I did because I didn’t really want to be near him then.

“And the next day he didn’t speak to me until after dinner, and he just complained about it, and he went on and on over the next few days.” Victor could tell he was struggling, so took Malcolm’s hands in his again. “He kept saying I was a disappointment, that I was a disgrace and the ‘no Reed man had ever done something so insidious’ and I just heard this over and over. He told me he’d disown me if I didn’t fix what I’d done, if I didn’t break if off with you. And I was scared and I didn’t know what to do, and I want my family to be proud of me so...I just did.”

“And what changed?”

“I was fucking miserable with you.” Malcolm laughed slightly, a choked little sound. “I don’t care. I’d rather be happy with you and disowned by him than be miserable and still have to hear about how much I’ve let him down.”

“I don’t want to make you choose-”

“You’re not making me choose. I’m choosing, and I’m choosing you.”

Victor couldn’t help but smile. “You have a lot of making up to do though, I’m not letting you off that easy.”

“You know, that’s completely fine.” Malcolm leant in with a slight smile to kiss him, and Victor met him halfway. He shifted closer and deepened it by leaning in heavy and sliding his hand up Malcolm’s thigh. It had only been a week but Malcolm had missed this, missed it so much that he got more excited at the touch than he normally would, and Victor seemed to know. He pushed Malcolm down into the bed, swinging a leg over to straddle him across this waist. Victor grinded his hips down onto Malcolm, who let out a small moan in response.

# # # # # #

He was eighteen, and it was only now, two years later, he was finally able to get it sorted. He’d been clever, talking to those taller than him and bigger than him, tutoring in exchange for their help; Morris had really pissed off a lot of people with his time at the school. It was their last year, finally leaving, and this was his chance to get even.

Malcolm was the shortest for the group, Victor edging out by only an inch, and everyone else towering above the two of them. He knew Morris’ schedule, when he was out of class and when he hung out by the fountain, that same fucking fountain that he nearly drowned in two years back, having a smoke break. Teachers had given up with Morris, trying to get him to stop beating on other kids, and when Morris knew he had that freedom, it’d only gotten worse for everyone, including Victor. But now things were going to change.

Malcolm stopped them all before rounding passed the building, turning to his partner.

“Hey, I want you to wait for me in my room, alright?”

“I thought you wanted me here. I want to be here, he deserved this, all he’s done to us, to others!” Victor’s voice was getting louder. Malcolm raised his hands to his partner’s arms, making small, comforting movements along the faint muscle lines.

“I don’t want you at risk, in any way. I’ll sort it, I promise. Now,” and he handed his dorm key over to Victor, gently placing in in the palm of his lover’s hand. “Go, and I’ll see you later.” He leaned in and kissed him, quickly and sweetly, and Victor smiled and pulled away, nodding and left.

Malcolm and the others, a group of five other boys, rounded the building, and as predicted, Leslie Morris and his two friends, Connor and Dominic, were smoking around the fountain, talking and laughing. They weren’t noticed at first, not until they were closer, and the three boys didn’t know what to make of them until a punch was swung by one of Malcolm’s men, hitting Connor square in the jaw. He stumbled into Leslie, who looked confused and angry.

“Been a while,” Malcolm said, standing securely between those on his sides.

“You’re Victor’s little friend, right?” He was cocky, his vicious and sarcastic edge unfazed. “Oh wait, no, you two are something a little more than friends – correct me if I’m wrong by all mean – but you two hooked up. You’re both little queers.”

“No, you’re right. Victor is my boyfriend. You have a problem?”

“Maybe I do.”

Malcolm threw the punch, those around him keeping Connor and Dominic from interfering. He was small but raised a fighter, and he punched hard, jolting Leslie off guard enough to kick him in his shins and knocking him to the ground. Malcolm loomed over him, his breathing already quicker than usual.

He turned his attention away, those on his sides keeping a firm hold on Connor and Dominic, both looking lost for words. “You’ve caused a lot of people damage,” he said, addressing them both, “And I suggest you stop that, or you’ll end up worse for ware. Understood?” He didn’t need to strike them, Connor’s face already bruising along the jaw line, both of them nodding rapidly. “Leave.” The boys were released, and both ran off, bolting in the same direction. Malcolm’s attention was back on Leslie Morris, still on the ground with a crumpled, vicious expression.

“Sort him.” Leslie was ganged up on, the five others surrounding him. Malcolm had explained beforehand what he’d wanted, and with Leslie already on the ground, it was easier to kick him, to stomp on his uniform as he coward, curling in to protect himself. Malcolm couldn’t help but smile a little; this is what he’d done to so many people. He’d hurt people, dragged them through the dirt in a literal and metaphorical sense, and it was only fair he received the same treatment. Malcolm watched them, as they picked him up with ease, dunking his head underwater and letting him thrash about like a fish on a line, scrambling to break free. They pulled him up, his entire body off the ground, briefly above the water before his head and shoulders were submerged again. His struggle was becoming more and more frantic as seconds went by.

They pulled him out and dropped him on the ground. Leslie’s feet kicked against the grass until his back was firmly against the fountain brick. Malcolm looked at him, and Leslie was scared. He was coughing, bouts of water flowing from his mouth but his eyes never left the towering figures above him. His arms were wrapped around his body and his hands were trembling against his shoulders. Unstable breathing was apparent and expected, but the trembling jaw and watering eyes were not, and Malcolm just looked at him, not knowing what to think. Leslie was only in that state for seconds before he was being punched against.

This...this was wrong, Malcolm saw that now. The fear in the boy’s eyes was real, and Malcolm wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to not see that fear again. He’d seen it in himself, it’d scared him that he was so fragile and vulnerable to something to necessary, but the fear was there and it was real in him and now it was real in Leslie Morris.

Malcolm’s legs pushed him forward. “Stop!” His voice wavered, and he managed to grab one of the boy’s arms mid swing and yang him back, throwing them all off. “Stop!” They dragged their eyes to their smallest, all panting and knuckles red. “This...no. Leave.” They all looked at him, as if an explanation would come. They looked between each other. “You’ve done what I asked, now leave.” They accepted that, and all left the same way they’d came. Leslie still shook on the ground, minute tremors, but he allowed himself to look at what was unfolding in front of him.

Malcolm looked down at him. “You’ve caused so many people so much grief, do you realise that?” It was rhetorical but Leslie shook his head in agreement despite that. “My entire life changed because of you, what you did to me two years ago exactly, and I want you to know that. Now, I’ve sank to your level, and I didn’t think I could get this low, but I’ve surprised myself.” Malcolm knelt down, their eyes on the same level. “I don’t expect you to cause anybody else any more trouble for the rest of the year, you or your friends, understood?” He nodded again. “Good.”

Malcolm stood and held out a hand, and Leslie stared at it, unsure, until Malcolm gave an impatient face, and Leslie took it. He helped him up. “Go.” And he left.

Malcolm was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, not that he was surprised; this revenge had been planned for two years and it was originally planned to last much longed. He’d gone too far, it’d gotten out of control and he’d let it consume him. It was stupid. He was better than that.

Leslie Morris had caused his life to change so drastically, leaving him jittery at times; it’d taken him longer than ideal to bring himself to shower again, to feel water on his body, but he had to, and it took him ever longer to shower everyday. But he was also in love with such a wonderful human being, something that most likely only of happened because of Morris’ intervention. Malcolm loved Victor; there was always a silver lining to the grey storm around him.

His legs wobbled. He was tired. Malcolm walked back to his room in a daze, ready to just breathe in his partner. He knocked on his own room door and Victor immediately answered, so many emotions being expressed at once in his green eyes and freckled face.

“You okay?” He asked, moving aside to let Malcolm in and closing the door behind him.

“Tired,” Malcolm replied, pulling Victor into a hug. He buried his face in the crook of his neck – how he loved to do that – and breathed him in, feeling at home in his lover’s arms again.

“Did everything go alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” His voice was muffled. “Things went...differently, but still well. I don’t think he’ll give you any more trouble.”

“He got what he deserved.”

Malcolm just hummed in response, not agreeing or disagreeing; he tightened his arms around Victor, holding him close. “Can we rest, nap or something?”

“Of course.” They proceeded to undress, kicking off their shoes and pulling off their uniforms, placing them in messy piles on the floor. Malcolm pulled on a t-shirt, but Victor remained in his boxers only, and they slid under the duvet together. Malcolm rested his head on Victor’s shoulder, arms coming up to comfortably hold him. Small patterns were drawn across his back and shoulder, light and gentle. Malcolm wasn’t able to fall asleep, but that was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly really liked writing this end bit with Leslie and Malcolm realising what he'd done. I liked writing the Leslie stuff from the other chapter too. If you didn't know, it's that instance that caused Malcolm's lasting fear of water...poor boy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was quite fun to write honestly, so please enjoy.

Malcolm startled awake, sweaty and hot, jolting the weight on his chest awake in the same movement. He sat up, scrambling with his feet against the sheets, his back against the headboard. It took him some moments to realise where he was: the black boots placed by the door; the grey jumpsuit roughly folded on the desk chair; the warm body next to him, now shifting onto his side to get a better look at him. He was in his Starfleet Dorm room with Victor next to him.

“Hey, you alright?” His partner asked, placing a gentle hand on his abdomen. Victor could feel his heavy breathing under his fingertips.

“Urm...urm, I, urm-”

“It’s alright. Nightmare again?”

“Urm, yeah, yeah.”

“About John?”

“Yeah.”

“Lay back down with me, come on.” Victor gently pushed him back down onto the mattress, guiding his head down onto the pillow and pulling him close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not tonight.”

“That’s okay. Let’s try and get some sleep, yeah?”

“Alright.” Malcolm attempted a smile but it faulted, it not quite reaching his eyes, not the Victor could see all too well in the darkness of the room, the only light peeking in through the cracks in the curtains.

He tried to settle again, and he did as much as he could. He was physically comfortable, but his mind felt distant from his body, disconnected. Victor was snuggled into his side, his face engulfed by the duvet up to his eyes, his nose cold against Malcolm’s ribs. His breathing leveled and Malcolm knew he was asleep again. He didn’t expect Victor to stay up with him until he fell asleep again, but Malcolm didn’t like being alone in darkness after a nightmare.

They’d become less frequent in the past three months, five months since the incident at the Cochrane Research Centre on Sirius IV. Five months since John...in the darkness of his bedroom, he could see it all.

_John pulled Malcolm passed the other people to see everything more clearly. John was an engineer, so this was exciting for him. Malcolm thought it was cool, but to him, it was just another fusion reactor; he’d seen plenty of them on Earth, so what made it any different out here? Whenever he asked that, John would roll his eyes, and say it was different because it was, and then he’d start spouting facts that Malcolm was unable to retain._

_“Come on Mal, you can’t think this isn’t cool?”_

_“I’ve told you before, it’s cool.”_

_“Then tell you’re face.”_

_Malcolm gave a mock smile, which pleased John enough to turn his attention back to the reactor, watching the workers do their job. This was what John wanted to do in his life. Malcolm found his friend endearing._

_The tour moved on and Malcolm had to deal with John’s enthusiasm for everything he saw. He listen as John pulled him around the small museum the research centre, designed specifically for cadets like themselves, telling all he knew about every individual design sheet and scrap of metal and uniform on display, without even needing to read the small plagues on each exhibit. The other cadets, much like Malcolm, found it interesting but they knew it wouldn’t stick out in their mind by the time they graduate, while John would treasure this experience._

_They continued to push on, the guide talking as they did so, and they eventual met with the other tour group. They were offered a chance to go in and see the reactor, and John was the first one to volunteer. More and more showed their interest, but Malcolm wasn’t one._

_“Oh please, you’ll like it.”_

_“I’m sure but I’m not like you with this stuff, doesn’t quite make sense sometimes, but you have fun. You can tell me all about it on the transport.”_

_“But Malcolm-”_

_“Mayhill,” called a staff member, grabbing John’s attention, “Are you coming?”_

_He turned back to Malcolm, who just smiled and told him to have fun. John shook his head but smiled and followed the group off to get fitted into suits. Malcolm was one of a handful of students who opted out going into the reactor room, and there were all directed to an observation room a floor above. It seemed those in the reactor room knew this, and Malcolm quickly found John who was scanning the room to find him. When John saw him, he smiled and waved, and Malcolm waved back. He looked stupid in the reactor suit; Malcolm thought he looked like a poorly vacuum packed ham, and he snapped a sneaky picture. He was smiling, and watched the group in the reactor walk around._

_A siren started to screech through the building and the lights turned red. Malcolm looked around frantically for an explanation, looking to the remaining staff member, though she was just as confused as everyone else. Then, an automatic voice recording played over the tanoid._

_“Warning. Reactor breach. Radiation leak imminent.”_

_Malcolm turned back to the glass, his fingers leaving smudged fingerprints as he leaned as forward as he could. He could see the panic down there. The cadets were being pushed to the side, workers frantically running from one end of the room to the other, pressing buttons and examining consoles, but the sirens didn’t stop._

_“Warning. Reactor breach. Radiation leak imminent.”_

_He felt so helpless as he watched. He couldn’t do anything when he saw something explode somewhere at the back of the room. He didn’t know what it was, but a stream of gas pushed out from a crack in a pipe._

_“Warning. Reactor breach. Radiation leak in process.”_

_A cadet was pushed and they fell over – he couldn’t tell who any of them were in the frantic situation – and Malcolm found himself bashing on the window, even though he knew nothing good would come of it._

_“Main reactor sealed.”_

_The automatic voice spoke again, and Malcolm turned to the staff member, now on the phone to somebody, panicking; her breathing was rapid and her words were jerky. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, and he turned his attention back to the reactor room. Something else had exploded while his gaze had been averted. He scanned the small swap of while and blue, but he couldn’t find John’s face. He counted them. Seventeen. There should be twenty. Who was missing? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even distinguish them. He bashed on the glass, the side of his fist pounding as hard as he manage against the surface. Somehow, those in the reactor room heard him, and the group of cadets all turned. Malcolm scanned the faces and he managed to find John, his face red and puffy; despite the glass and distance between them, Malcolm could see the tears, the panic and the fear in his eyes._

_“Hey, get them out!” He called, shouting back into the room behind him, twisting his head enough to get the sound to travel, but he turned back to the window as soon as he could. He could see John now, frantically looking around, still red in the face. Malcolm banged on the window again and grabbed his attention. Malcolm’s jaw trembled at the panicked sight; it hurt to see his friends so scared. He could feel his face heat up. There was an ever growing ache in his jaw as he tried to stop himself from crying._

_Another explosions, heads wiping round, but more now being covered with their hands and arms to shield themselves, whether from the explosions or the sounds or from the fear and reality Malcolm could only guess._

_He took a sharp intake of breath, staggered and rough, and then his body started to shake as tears fell and he couldn’t hide from reality. The core was sealed. Everyone in the reactor room was going to die. John Mayhill was going to die._

_His crying became loud and violent, bashing against the glass repeatedly. There was nothing he could do but watch. The group, once packet close together to shield each other from the events, were now more spread, stumbling away from each other and falling against the walls or consoles or the floor; at that point, Malcolm thought, they must all know what was happening. But he kept looking at John, who stumbled slightly over another cadet who shoved passed, then John turned to the side and vomited. Malcolm noticed others were too, but, as heartless as it seemed, he didn’t care about them. Malcolm didn’t know them. Malcolm knew John Mayhill, this stupid, head-strong engineering cadet who just wanted to help people, who wanted to explore and see things he’d never seen before. Malcolm knew that John would never get to see those things he hadn’t even seen yet._

_John wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and turned back to Malcolm. He was shaking his head and waving, a smile on his teary face, looking up to his friend who was sliding down to his knees against the glass, eyes shut tight, sobbing now uncontrollable. He kept waving to gain Malcolm’s attention, and it worked. John signalled to him ‘wait’ then stumbled, in a drunken way, to the staff member and hassled them. Malcolm watched as John returned to where he’d been stood next to a console with a phone in his hand, that he then brought to his ear. Malcolm felt the phone in his pocket vibrate, and he pulled it out and answered the unfamiliar number._

_“Hey, hey, it’s me.” Of course it was John, he could see him on the phone, could see his lips move with the audio._

_“John-”_

_“It’ll be alright.”_

_“How is it going to be alright John? You’re dying or don’t you know that? You’re trapped and there’s nothing I can do to help you.”_

_“But you’re not here, so it’s okay.”_

_“I’d rather be there than you.”_

_“And that’s why you’re going to be the best goddamn Starfleet officer.” John’s voice wavered and cracked, and it was then that Malcolm noticed it had been stable before then. His voice was all over the place, his entire being was a mess, but John…_

_“John, I’m sorry.”_

_“You have nothing to be sorry for, why the hell are you sorry?”_

_“I should’ve done something more.”_

_“I could never ask for more from you, you’ve always been your best.”_

_This was sappy and stupid and it made it so much harder, knowing this was how it would end. Malcolm always thought they’d go out telling jokes, one making a passing comment and they’d laugh and then something would happen, and one of them would die; Malcolm wasn’t good at goodbyes._

_“Malcolm, promise me you’ll be okay.”_

_“I-”_

_“I’m not saying be okay tomorrow, or in a week or in a month, but I’m saying be okay some time in the future. You’re a good man and the world needs to see that and you need to be okay in the end.”_

_“I don’t know if I can.”_

_“You can, promise me you’ll try.”_

_Malcolm looked at him. He was still crying, spouting a mess of words mixing in with the salty tears, but John wasn’t crying anymore. His face was still red, and there was tension in his jaw, but he kept eye contact even when he body lurched forward as if to vomit again, but John stopped himself, for Malcolm’s sake. And Malcolm nodded his head, shifting his body to slough against the window, his head leaning on the glass with the phone still on his ear._

_“Good.” John smiled and Malcolm wasn’t sure how he was able to do it, but he tried to return it, for John’s sake. It didn’t reach his eyes quite like it normally did, but he tried. John’s nose started to bleed and he wiped the blood on his hand. “Tell Victor sorry for me.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because now he has to deal with all of you all the time. At least with me around he got a break sometimes.” And Malcolm chuckled slightly, creases forming at his eyes. He’d stopped shaking, but he was still sweating._

_He nodded. “Will do.”_

_John opened his mouth to say something but nothing happened, no sounds were made and no words were formed. He keeled over, vomiting again, then collapsing. He fell on his side. He tried to prop himself back up but he couldn’t, then he fell unmoving on the floor._

_“John? John?!”_

_Nothing._

_Malcolm looked around the room now, his attention lost; there were some on the floor, unconscious, others falling over, few still on their feet. He hadn’t noticed. They didn’t matter but John did._

_“John, please.”_

_Nothing._

_And he became a mess again, his body shaking against the glass and loud sobs returning. The phone fell from his hand, but he picked it back up again and launched it. It hit a wall and smashed. He couldn’t breathe properly, gasping in for air that just wasn’t able to find its way into his lungs. When he opened his eyes, the world was spinning, the siren still blaring and the lights still red and angry, but the voice recordings had stopped. A hand was reaching out in front of him but he didn’t acknowledge to its owner, instead, he just closed his eyes and continued to cry. That was all he wanted to do._

Malcolm found himself crying when he brought himself out of it. They weren't loud and balling tears, but silent once that fell without his permission or knowledge.

He needed to stop forcing himself to relive it, he knew that, but it was hard, the nightmares made it that much harder. He still had the newspaper clipping – he wasn’t sure why he decided to cut them out and keep them – and every once and a while he’d look at them. The first one was just an article with a picture of the centre before anything had happened, just showing location and giving the broad strokes, didn’t even tell the names of those lost. The second one was the hardest one. The survivors, one staff member and six cadets including Malcolm, were forced into a photo. None of them wanted to be there, but the Academy gave them no choice. They were all given new uniforms and boots to make them look smart and proper, the pinnacle of Starfleet recovery, and were posed together. None of them smiled. Malcolm wasn’t even looking at the camera. It was a stupid photograph.

He wasn’t okay yet, and he couldn’t imagine it being anytime soon, but he made a promise and he intended to keep that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John and Poor Malcolm...bless. Malcolm is an emotional human, and it's all these tragedies that befall him that turn him into the more colder man we know and love on the bridge of the Enterprise. And there is still more to come so be prepared, aha.
> 
> But let me know what you thought :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this first chapter. Things will continue to get more hectic as Malcolm gets older and his life changes.
> 
> If some of this seemed different to what you were expecting, like characters and stuff, I'm taking a lot of this information from the Trek wikias, mainly Memory Beta as it uses non-canon, but it works. I'm not including everything, and I might also use the Mass Trek wikia in future chapter unsure yet.
> 
> Let me know what you think, means a lot to get feedback of any kind! :)


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